


Terrible Thing

by Aspidities



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Drabble, F/F, Fingering, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 07:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16488449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspidities/pseuds/Aspidities
Summary: Do things I don’t wanna do/all for youYou terrible thing/you beautiful thing





	Terrible Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quickie to show my appreciation for this new show and clearly wanna jump on the Sabrina-Wants-to-Fuck-Prudence train before it leaves the station officially. 
> 
> Find me @bitterbones87 on Tumblr for more!

“How sad for you.” Prudence has lips like a vase, and every time she opens them her voice pours out. “To have faith in nothing.”

Her skin is liquid silk in the water. There are no colors like it. Warm honey-gold and shifting to coffee brown, stirred in by the buttermilk and lifted into highlight by candlelight. You wonder if this is another type of curse: a black stain spreading through your blood to feel such things. Mingled jealousy, frustration….arousal. Lust is a terrible thing. A stinking, sweating goat riding on your brain.

The cloth dips again and you slip it up the side of her throat. Thinking. For all your play at being mortal there is the side of you that whispers, still. Slash her throat, take the honor of eating Feast of Feasts yourself, like one of the Thirteen, reborn. Bathe in her blood after like a brand new baptism. A worse one than the fate you rejected in the woods.

But you don’t. You don’t because there’s also the same part of you that whispers how you’d like to take her pretty lips and shut them with a sharp, hard kiss, firm as a smack. Teach her to respect her schoolmates with a bite to her collarbone, a finger dancing teasingly along her hip.

You close your eyes, and when you open them she is right there. So close. Prudence knows what you’ve been thinking. Perhaps both sides. She is looking at you like you exist only to serve at her feet. And you are. You’re kneeling. She curls up those lips in a smile, so like Salem after he’s been into the cream, and your blood rises. Maybe the same blood she cursed. Maybe all of this can be traced to that, and you decide to blame her just as you decide to rise up from your knees and curl your fingers into her black-white hair that smells of night-blooming jasmine.

She gasps, and you dive. Her lips are open when you meet them, and you force them open with your tongue. There’s no grace to this, no medley of melting sweetness. No simpering teenage timidity, like there is with Harvey. This is lust and blood moon darkness and steam heat. She is kissing you back like she fears the fire, and you know smugly in your Spellman heart that you deserve this.

You deserve a Queen to feast upon.

You push her back, and you’re not kind. Her head hits the porcelain rim of the tub, buttermilk sloshing, and she narrows her eyes at you.  _ For the Harrowing.  _ You think, more to her than at her, and you fall on her then, biting and sucking all along the tops of her breasts.

Prudence releases a sigh that is more of a hiss. “That’s it. Worship your Queen.”

And that won’t do at all, so you curl your fingers around her throat and tighten. You bite her dark nipple as it rises from the water in shock, and threaten her lowly, with your voice a stranger’s rumble. “What makes you think I’m not just taking the first bite?”

You teeth sink in and this time she moans. 

There’s no more talking, then. Banter can be spared for later, when the threat of cannibalistic rites aren’t hanging over their heads. Your hands have become greedy, imperious as the Dark Lord, raking over her body. There is a tangle of dark sheep’s wool at the join of her thighs and you slick your fingers through it—not caring that buttermilk is not the best lubrication for what you have planned. Her clit is purple-red and hard, and she thrusts her hips up from the tub, still demanding of you. 

That won’t do, so you spank her needy little bud with your fingertips, fast and hard, until she’s giving voice to a whimper that you would have never believed. She lifts and lifts, trying to offer herself, and you push on her chest, keeping her still. You’re still exploring. 

You’ve touched yourself, of course, many times, but this is different, obviously. She’s different. You almost thought Prudence would be ice cold inside, not gripping and slick with hunger. You almost thought her to be a demon or a god, but here she is, all alive and young as you, twisting on your fingers trying to get more. It makes you want to give her more. More than you would give yourself, more than you would give anyone. 

And the noises are desperate, hasty. They’re wrenched from her more than being her choice, and that pleases you too. Before long—too soon, to your liking— she’s bucking in the bath, splashing milk everywhere, upsetting candles, and digging razor-sharp talons into your back as her eyes lock helplessly with yours. 

She’s begging. Without words. You can hear her voice in your mind—broken and discordant—and it sounds more mortal than witch.  _ Let me come. Let me come.  _

It sounds like someone that the Prudence she first met in the woods would gleefully torment until they were writhing in agony. So you do. You torment her until her mind’s voice is shrieking and wailing, and her body is shuddering on the precipice….and you let her fall. 

The feel of it. Around your fingers, under you. The pain of her nails, the duality of her voice and her not-voice. The sweet sin of it all. 

You would sign your name in any book for this, you realize, dimly, and that thought is a giant, terrifying thing, so you clamp it shut.  _ Freedom for power. Not an equal exchange.  _

After, she shakes her head, lets out a breath and relaxes into the tub. Her brow is raised and her mouth is a vase again, ready to pour the tainted honey. “I wouldn’t have expected that of a half-breed.”

You yank on her hair, and her eyes go wonderfully still. Her breath is caught, and you feel that dark dual urge rising again. Punish her. Devour her. 

Chase the darkness until it swallows you both. 

“Get up. I’m gonna show you how a filthy half-breed eats a Queen.”   
  



End file.
